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um satire will then chiefly fall upon those who ought ail to be the most exempt from it. Virtue, merit, and wis every thing that is praiseworthy, will be made
a the subject of ridicule and buffoonery. It is imse. possible to enumerate the evils which arise from n; these arrows that fly in the dark, and I know no ke other excuse that is or can be made for them, than
that the wounds they give are only imaginary, and produce nothing more than a secret shame or sorrow in the mind of the suffering person. It must indeed be confessed, that a lampoon or a satire do not carry in them robbery or murder; but at the same time how few are there that would not rather dy lose a considerable sum of money, or even life itm-self, than be set up as a mark of infamy and derio- sion? and in this case a man should consider, that to an injury is not to be measured by the notions of e) him that gives, but of him that receives it.
Those who can put the best countenance upon the outrages of this nature which are offered them are not without their secret anguish. I have often observed a passage in Socrates's behaviour at his death, in a light wherein none of the critics have considered it. That excellent man entertaining
his friends, a little before he drank the bowl of ni-poison, with a discourse on the immortality of the al soul, at his entering upon it says, that he does not fc- believe any the most comie genius can censure him in far talking upon such a subject at such a time. This passage, I think, evidently glances upon Arisan tophanes, who writ a comedy on purpose to ridior, cule the discourses of that divine philosopher. It er. has been observed by many writers, that Socrates was so little moved at this piece of buffoonery, that he was several times present at its being acted be upon the stage, and never expressed the least resentment of it. But, with submission, I think the remark I have here made shows us, that this unworthy treatment made an impression upon his mind, though he had been too wise to discover it,
When Julius Cæsar was lampooned by Catullus, he invited him to supper, and treated him with such a generous civility, that he made the poet his friend ever after. Cardinal Mazarine gave the same kind of treatment to the learned Quillet, who had reflected upon his eminence in a famous Latin poem. The cardinal sent for him, and, after some kind expostulations upon what he had written, assured him of his esteem, and dismissed him with à promise of the next good abbey that should fall, which he accordingly conferred upon him in a few months after. This had so good an effect upon the author, that he dedicated the second edition of his ed book to the cardinal, after having expunged the it passages which had given him offence.
Sextus Quintus was not of so generous and forale giving a temper. Upon his being made pope, the statue of Pasquin was one night dressed in a very ere dirty shirt, with an excuse written under it, that he
was forced to wear foul linen, because his laundress was made a princess. This was a reflection upon the pope's sister, who, before the promotion of her brother, was in those mean circumstances that Pasquin represented her. As this pasquinade mts made a great noise in Rome, the pope offered a
any person that
considerable sum of money to His should discover the author of it. The author, relying upon his holiness's generosity, as also on some Mac Private overtures which he had received from him, made the discovery himself; upon which the pope gave him the reward he had promised, but at the same time, to disable the satirist for the future, ordered his tongue to be cut out, and both his hands
to be chopped off. Aretine is too trite an instance. Every one knows that all the kings of Europe were his tributaries. Nay, there is a letter of his extant, in which he makes his boasts that he had laid the Sophi of Persia under contribution.
Accurit quidam, notur miki nomine tantum ;
Comes up a fop, (I knew him but by fame)
Though in the various examples which I have here drawn together, these several great men be- N° 24. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28, 1710-11 haved themselves very differently towards the wits of the age who had reproached them; they all of them plainly showed that they were very sensible of their reproaches, and consequently that they received them as very great injuries. For my own part, I would never trust a man that I thought was capable of giving these secret wounds; and cannot but think that he would hurt the person whose reputation he thus assaults, in his body or in his fortune, could he do it with the same security. There is, indeed, something very barbarous and inhuman in the ordinary scribblers of lampoons. An innocent young lady shall be exposed for an unhappy feature. A father of a family turned to ridicule for some domestic calamity. A wife be made uneasy all her life for a misinterpreted word or action. Nay, a good, a temperate, and a just man, shall be put out of countenance by the representation of those qualities that should do him honour. So pernicious a thing is wit, when it is not tempered with virtue and humanity.
THERE are in this town a great number of insignifi cant people, who are by no means fit for the bet ter sort of conversation, and yet have an imperti nent ambition of appearing with those to whom they are not welcome. If you walk in the Park one of them will certainly join with you, though you are in company with ladies; if you drink a bottle, they will find your haunts. What make such fellows the more burdensome is, that they neither offend nor please so far as to be taken notice of for either. It is, I presume, for this reason that my correspodents are willing by my means to be rid of them. The two following letters are writ by persons who suffer by such impertinence. A worthy old bachelor, who sets in for a dose of claret every night at such an hour, is teased by a swarm of them; who, because they are sure of room and a good fire, have taken it in their heads to keep a sort of club in his company; though the sober gentleman himself is an utter enemy to such meetings.
I have indeed heard of heedless inconsiderate writers, that without any malice have sacrificed the reputation of their friends and acquaintance to a certain levity of temper, and a silly ambition of distinguishing themselves by a spirit of raillery and satire; as if it were not infinitely more honourable to be a good-natured man than a wit. Where there is this little petulant humour in an author, he is often very mischievous without designing to be so. For which reason I always lay it down | THE aversion I for some years have had to clubs as a rule, that an indiscreet man is more hurtful in general, gave me a perfect relish for your specuthan an ill-natured one; for as the latter will onlylation on that subject; but I have since been exattack his enemies, and those he wishes ill to; the tremely mortified, by the malicious world's rankother injures, indifferently, both friends and foes. ing me amongst the supporters of such impertinent I cannot forbear, on this occasion, transcribing a assemblies. I beg leave to state my case fairly: fable out of Sir Roger l'Estrange, which accident- and that done, I shall expect redress from your jually lies before me. A company of waggish boys dicious pen. were watching of frogs at the side of a pond, and 'I am, Sir, a bachelor of some standing, and a still as any of them put up their heads, they would traveller: my business, to consult my own humour, be pelting them down again with stones. "Chil-which I gratify without controlling other people's: dren," says one of the frogs," you never consider, I have a room and a whole bed to myself; and I that though this may be play to you, it is death have a dog, a fiddle, and a gun; they please me, to us"." and injure no creature alive. My chief meal is a supper, which I always make at a tavern. constant to an hour, and not ill-humoured; for which reasons, though I invite nobody, I have no sooner supped, than I have a crowd about me of that sort of good company that know not whither else to go. It is true, every man pays hishare; yet, as they are intruders, I have an undoubted right to be the only speaker, or at least the loudest; which I maintain, and that to the great emolument of my audience. I sometimes tell them their own in pretty free language; and sometimes divert them with merry tales, according as I am in humour. I am one of those who live in taverns to a great age, by a sort of regular intemperance: I never go to bed drunk, but always flustered; I wear away very gently; am apt to be peevish, but never angry. Mr. Spectator, if you have kept various company, you know there is in every tavern in town some old humorist or other,
As this week + is in a manner set apart and dedicated to serious thoughts, I shall indulge myself in such speculations as may not be altogether unsuitable to the season; and in the mean time, as the settling in ourselves a charitable frame of mind is a work very proper for the time, I have in this
Peter Aretine, a native of Arezzo, who lived in the 16th century, was infamous for his satirical writings; and was so
bold as to carry his invectives even against sovereigns; whence he got the title of the Scourge of Princes. He used to boast, that his lampoons did more service to the world than sermons; and it was said of him, that he had subjected more princes by his pen, than the greatest warriors had ever done by their arms. Aretine wrote also many irreligious and obscene pieces. Some say, that he afterwards changed his loose, libertine principles; but however this may be, it is certain that he composed several pieces of devotion. He was author likewise of some comedies, which were esteemed pretty good of their kind; and died in the year 1556, being about 65 years old. It is said by some, that he fell into such a fit of laughter, on hearing some obscene conversation, that he overturned the chair upon which he sat, and that falling, he hurt his head, and died upon the spot.
+ The week before Easter.
* See No 9.
To prevent all mistakes that may happen among ast gentlemen of the other end of the town, who come but once a week to St. James's coffee-house, either by nk miscalling the servants, or requiring such things from of them as are not properly within their respective provinces; this is to give notice, that Kidney, keeper of the book-debts of the outlying customers, and observer She of those who go off without paying, having resigned hat that employment, is succeeded by John Sowton; to sir, whose place of enterer of messages and first coffeeShe grinder, William Bird is promoted; and Samuel Burdock comes as shoe-cleaner in the room of the said Bird.
her THE following letter will explain itself, and needs no apology:
'I AM one of that sickly tribe who are commonly known by the name of Valetudinarians; and do confess to you, that I first contracted this ill habit of body, or rather of mind, by the study of physic. I no sooner began to peruse books of this nature, but I found my pulse was irregular; and scarce ever read the account of any disease that I did not fancy myself afflicted with*. Dr. Sydenham's learned treatise of fevers threw me into a lingering hectic, which hung upon me all the while I was reading that excellent piece. I then applied e to myself to the study of several authors, who have ugh written upon phthisical distempers, and by that means fell into a consumption; till at length, growing fat, I was in a manner shamed out of that imaure gination. Not long after this I found in myself all the symptoms of the gout, except pain; but was cured of it by a treatise upon the gravel, written me by a very ingenious author, who (as it is usual for Sits. physicians to convert one distemper into another) eased me of the gout by giving me the stone. I at t I length studied myself into a complication of disbut tempers; but, accidentally taking into my hand of that ingenious discourse written by Sanctorius+, I
N° 25. THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 1710-11.
And sickens by the very means of health.
VIRG. Æn. xii. 46.
* Mr. Tickell, in his preface to Addison's Works, says, 'that 'Addison never had a regular pulse.'
+ The inventor of the thermometer. He was professor of medicine in the university of Padua in the beginning of the seventeenth century; and, by means of a weighing-chair of his own invention, made many curious and important discc veries relative to insensible perspiration. He published at Venice, in 1634, an ingenious book, entitled "De Medicina Statica," which is the work here alluded to.
in a flight than in a battle; and may be applied to those multitudes of imaginary sick persons that break their constitutions by physic, and throw themselves into the arms of death, by endeavouring to escape it. This method is not only dangerous, but below the practice of a reasonable creature. To consult the preservation of life, as the only end of it, to make our health our business, to engage in no action that is not part of a regimen, or course of physic, are purposes so abject, so mean, so un
was resolved to direct myself by a scheme of rules, which I had collected from his observations. The learned world are very well acquainted with that gentleman's invention; who, for the better carrying on of his experiments, contrived a certain mathematical chair, which was so artificially hung upon springs, that it would weigh any thing as well as a pair of scales. By this means he discovered how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, what quantity of it was turned into nourish ment, and how much went away by the other chan-worthy human nature, that a generous soul would nels and distributions of nature.
rather die than submit to them. Besides, that a continual anxiety for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casts a gloom over the whole face of nature; as it is impossible we should take delight in any thing that we are every moment afraid of losing.
I do not mean, by what I have here said, that I think any one to blame for taking due care of their health. On the contrary, as cheerfulness of mind, and capacity for business, are in a great measure the effects of a well-tempered constitution, a man cannot be at too much pains to cultivate and preserve it. But this care, which we are prompted to, not only by common sense, but by duty and instinct, should never engage us in grounddistempers, which are natural to every man who is more anxious to live, than how to live. In short, the preservation of life should be only a secondary concern, and the direction of it our principal. If we have this frame of mind, we shall take the best means to preserve life, without being over solicit ous about the event; and shall arrive at that point of felicity which Martial has mentioned as the perfection of happiness, of neither fearing nor wishfor death.
Having provided myself with this chair, I used to study, eat, drink, and sleep in it: insomuch that I may be said, for these last three years, to have lived in a pair of scales. I compute myself, when I am full in health, to be precisely two hundred weight, falling short of it about a pound after a day's fast, and exceeding it as much after a full meal; so that is my continual employment to trim the balance between these two volatile pounds in my constitution. In my ordinary meals I fetch myself up to two hundred weight and half a pound: and if, after having dined, I find myself fall short of it, I drink just so much small beer, or eat such a quantity of bread, as is sufficient to make me weight. In my greatest excesses I do not trans-less fears, melancholy apprehensions, and imaginary gress more than the other half pound: which, for my health's sake, I do the first Monday in every month. As soon as I find myself duly poised after dinner, I walk till I have perspired five ounces and four scruples; and when I discover, by my chair, that I am so far reduced, I fall to my books, and study away three ounces more. As for the remaining parts of the pound, I keep no account of them. I do not dine and sup by the clock, but by my chair; for when that informs me my pounding of food is exhausted, I conclude myself to be hungry, and lay in another with all diligence. In my days of abstinence I lose a pound and a half, and on solemn fasts am two pounds lighter than on other days in the year.
In answer to the gentleman, who tempers his health by ounces and by scruples, and instead of complying with those natural solicitations of hunger and thirst, drowsiness or love of exercise, governs himself by the prescriptions of his chair, I shall tell I allow myself, one night with another, a quar-him a short fable. Jupiter, says the mythologist, ter of a pound of sleep, within a few grains more to reward the piety of a certain countryman, proor less; and if, upon my rising, I find that I have mised to give him whatever he would ask. The not consumed my whole quantity, I take out the countryman desired that he might have the managerest in my chair. Upon an exact calculation of ment of the weather in his own estate. He obwhat I expended and received the last year, which tained his request, and immediately distributed I always register in a book, I find the medium to rain, snow, and sunshine, among his several fields, be two hundred weight, so that I cannot discover as he thought the nature of the soil required. At that I am impaired one ounce in my health during the end of the year, when he expected to see a a whole twelvemonth. And yet, sir, notwithstand-more than ordinary crop, his harvest fell infinitely ing this my great care to ballast myself equally every day, and to keep my body in its proper poise, so it is, that I find myself in a sick and languishing condition. My complexion is grown very sallow, my pulse low, and my body hydropical. Let me therefore beg you, sir, to consider me as your patient, and to give me more certain rules to walk by than those I have already observed, and you will very much oblige
Your humble servant.'
short of that of his neighbours. Upon which (says the fable) he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into his own hands, or that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself.
N° 26. FRIDAY, MARCH 30, 1711.
Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
Vita summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.
t is conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of and a nation from the turn of their public monuments apt and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the ra- perusal of men of learning and genius before they
I are put in execution. Sir Cloudesly Shovel's moch- nument has very often given me great offence. self Instead of the brave rough English admiral, which net was the distinguishing character of that plain galt of lant man, he is represented on his tomb by the fion, gur of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and repon posing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy om- of state. The inscription is answerable to the moom-nument; for, instead of celebrating the many repon markable actions he had performed in the service or of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner ber- of his death, in which it was impossible for him to em, reap any honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt hey to despise for want of genius, show an infinitely the greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their mes buildings and works of this nature, than what we nay meet with in those of our own country. The mobe- numents of their admirals, which have been erected
at the public expense, represent them like them-
But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I-know oly that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise edi- dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but for my own part, though ned I am always serious, I do not know what it is to v in be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of rag- nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the of same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful had ones. By this means I can improve myself with dy. those objects, which others consider with terror. hat When I look upon the tombs of the great, every to-emotion of envy dies in me: when I read the epithe-taphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes ies, out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon -ere a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; ge- when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I uty, consider the vanity of grieving for those whom and we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying nis- by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that ine divided the world with their contests and disputes, ned I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little und competitions, factions, and debates of mankind.
in When I read the several dates of the tombs, of of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred phs, years ago, I consider that great day when we shall be all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearises ance together.
N° 27. SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1711.
Ut nor longa quibus mentitur amica, diesque
HOR. 1 Ep. i. 20.
Long as to him, who works for debt, the day;